Uh-oh. She was pretty sure they were. And the look on the man’s face was one she knew well. It was the same one her big, dumb brothers donned anytime a woman with cleavage and fluffy Texas hair walked by. In a word: love-struck.
Or is it two words when there’s a hyphen in the middle?
Whatever. Either way she was caught off guard and—
“Oooh,” Louisa Sanchez said as she made her way to Maddy and the ranger. “I think Señorita Maddy has an admirer. Would you look at him blush!”
“Louisa,” Maddy scolded. “Mind your manners or our host here, Ranger…” She glanced at the green lettering stitched above the park ranger’s breast pocket. “Your name is Rick? So, like, Ranger Rick? Ha! Where are Scarlett Fox and Boomer Badger?”
“Who?” Ranger Rick blinked and cocked his head, the joke having landed as softly as a cow falling off a catwalk.
“Oh.” Maddy shook her head. “Um…you know, of the children’s magazine? Ranger Rick the raccoon?”
“Who?” Rick asked a second time, the tips of his ears turning red again.
“Um…” She trailed off, now feeling older than dirtandfoolish. Luckily, the sound of the floatplane’s engineswhirredto life and saved her from having to finish.
The smell of aviation fuel mixed with the sweeter scents of sunscreen and sun-baked sand, and Maddy waved to the pilot as he carefully backed the aircraft away from the sand and into the water. She shaded her eyes against the setting sun and watched the plane’s pontoons glide over the tops of the gentle waves for a few dozen yards before its wings caught the breeze, lifting the aircraft into a sky that was a happy kaleidoscope of pinks and oranges and reds.
Nothin’ quite like a sunset in the Keys, she thought, listening to the buzzing rotors compete with the screaming seagulls who swooped and dove and looked for their last meal before calling it a night. She turned to Rick. “So where should we set up camp?”
“You’re the only ones registered to overnight on the island,” he said. “Feel free to take your pick.”
“Ohhhh.” Maddy turned to the teenagers and wiggled her eyebrows. In good weather, Garden Key received frequent visitors via the daily fast ferry or, like Maddy and the girls, via a chartered floatplane. Most people stayed for a few hours, exploring the fort and snorkeling around the old pilings, before returning to Key West. But a few camping licenses were issued for those tourists who wanted to experience a night in the middle of nowhere. Luckily for Maddy and the girls, they seemed to be the only ones brave enough to attempt it this night. “Go find us the primo spot. I’ll be there in a bit and we’ll make some s’mores.”
“Yo, I get it, Miss Maddy.” Donna DeMarco gave her an exaggerated wink. “You want the cute park ranger all to yourself.”
“Please.” Maddy rolled her eyes and shooed the girls up the beach. “I’m old enough to be his…” Not mother. “Older sister,” she finished lamely, and the girls snorted with laughter.
One thing Maddy had learned in her short time with the teens: Nothing got by them. They were all smart as whips.
Well, duh. Scholarship recipients, remember?
Right. When she’d approached her father—the owner of Powers Petroleum, the largest oil company in the United States—about starting a scholarship fund to support Houston-area girls who expressed an interest in pursuing a degree in petroleum engineering or petroleum geology, she hadn’t expected to be inundated with two hundred essays. And even though all of the applicants were deserving in some way, the three she had finally selected had really stood out on paper. When she met them, they stood out in person too.
There was Louisa Sanchez, black-eyed and dark-skinned. She was from what many would call the “bad” part of Maddy’s home city, born to parents who had emigrated from Mexico in the hope their daughter might grab hold of the American Dream with both hands and live it to its fullest.
Sally Mae Winchester was a bird-like blond girl from a tiny, rural community outside the city. Shy and timid, she had a Southern drawl thicker than Maddy’s. But underneath Sally Mae’s demure exterior were a keen mind and a desperate desire to make something of herself.
And then there was Donna DeMarco with her long, dark hair and too-wise-for-her-age eyes. Donna was a recent transplant to Houston and liked to portray herself as a tough Jersey girl. But that was just a ruse to hide her heart of solid gold. Donna’s mother had died when she was a baby, and the only way her father managed to keep food on their table was working as a truck driver. The problem was that he had debilitating rheumatoid arthritis. So Donna’s dream was to one day make enough money to support her “old man,” as she called him, so he wouldn’t have to suffer the agony of keeping his fingers wrapped around a steering wheel.
Maddy smiled at their slender backs as they giggled and teased each other while making their way up the small, narrow beach in search of the perfect campsite. Whether it was fund-raising parties or research grants, Maddy was always proud of the work she did for the charitable side of her father’s business. But she felt a particular fondness for the scholarship fund and these three girls.
She was still smiling when she turned back to discover the young ranger staring at her, once again wearing that look.Thelook. She wondered if she should suggest he make a trip to the nearest optometrist for a vision test.
I mean, come on.Shedidn’thave cleavage—at least not much to speak of. And she certainly didn’t have big, fluffy Texas hair. In fact, she hardly hadanyhair, thanks to her impetuous nature and her ready-for-anything stylist. She’d told Eduardo she wanted “the Michelle Williams look,” but she was pretty sure he’d saddled her with a Justin Bieber ’do, circa 2009, instead. That belief was only compounded when her brothers started calling her a Belieber.
Not that she was an ogre or anything. Her youngest brother assured her she was still “passable.”Gee, thanks.And she’d had her fair share of male admirers who called her “cute.” But the fact remained that she’d never been the kind of gal to inspire insta-love or even insta-lust, so what the heck was wrong with Ranger Rick that he—
Now, hang on a cotton-pickin’ minute here! Don’t sellyourself short, sister. Did you forget about Bran Pallidino?
And the answer to that question wasn’t justno, but H. E. to the double Lhell no, she hadn’t forgotten him. Forgetting him would be impossible. For one thing, and to quote her dear paternal grandmother, he washandsome as a hatchet. With his wavy, mink-colored hair, flashing brown eyes, and pirate smile, Bran Pallidino could beat any of Hollywood’s hunks for the top spot onPeoplemagazine’s Sexiest Man Alive list.
For another thing, he had saved her from the crazed terrorist who had hijacked her father’s yacht.Yessiree, Bob. Sothathappened.
And lastly, in the months following the hijacking, he’d helped her deal with the onset of delayed shock, nightmares, and what some might diagnose as a mild case of PTSD. Through hundreds of emails and the occasional satellite phone call, he’d been her sounding board, her sympathetic ear, her support and her light when the memories threatened to get too heavy and dark.
Yep. Bran Pallidino was many things. Brave. Funny. Sometimes taciturn. But one thing he wasnotwas forgettable.
